Albrecht

The boys sudden joy is a flashfire of giggles and enthusiasm, his tiny brush tail wagging back and forth as if his juvenile body just can’t contain the energy welling up within it and has to find alternative routes for purging the excess through movement and laughter. He throws himself upward so quickly that the old stallion anticipates his somersaulting backwards into the snow – or into his own bony chest - but somehow those long, spidery legs manage to keep him upright long enough to send him rushing onwards with an exclamation and a playful challenge.

A smile softens the hard lines of age and resentment in the stallions features as he watches the boy lunge and caper, admiring the ease and honesty of the childs emotions - so ready to share, to trust, as all children are apt to do before the harshness of the world steals their openness from them – but almost as quickly as the expression finds purchase on his grizzled face it sours again, chased away by a pang of guilt. He wonders if some of his actions will be the first to break that immaculate trust, or at least, if the version of them retold through his mothers anger will be. A flicker of something - Remorse? Irritation? Spite? – folds his ears as the possibility nags him, but he pushes it away, secure in the belief that he could hold the boys affection if he had to, assuming a childs mind is no stronger than a womans. He bounds after the colt, scrabbling for traction in sand now instead of snow.

He could overtake the boy if he wanted, despite the others obvious youthful advantage. Speed is probably the only aspect of his physique not rotted away by time and neglect, bolstered even by his unhealthily low body weight and natural lankiness, but the game would surely end in hurt feelings and waspish excuses then, so instead he maintains a few feet from the colts heels, ducking away from the spray of his splashing and reaching up to ghost his muzzle across his back whenever the boy turns to check his progress, a wordless “Gotcha - almost!” in the failed attempts to catch him.

His endurance, however, does suffer from his emaciation, so it’s not long before his pretend efforts morph into actual struggle, his nostrils flaring and lungs heaving to power their wild dash across the beach. It’s a relief when the boy finally stops, almost instantly regaining his composure while the elder flounders, panting and sweating. “I’m Albrecht.” He manages between heavy breaths, only now bothering to glance around them. “Is this the Dragon's Throat?” He asks the boy, wondering what the southern herds policy on trespassers is.



"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Saoirse @Sabia <3